


A Mercenary's ABCs

by Sarcasticles



Category: Daughter of the Lilies
Genre: ABC fic, Drabble Collection, Gen, Vingettes, as in each chapter is actually 100 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14392926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: A series of one shots looking into the lives of everyone's favorite band of mercenaries





	1. Antithesis

Mages were supposed to be imperious know-it-alls. Cave elves were supposed to be uncivilized beasts. Mercenaries were supposed to be courageous fighters. Everything Thistle was supposed to be, she wasn’t. She hid power that by all rights should be flaunted, was timid and gentle where she ought to be bold and brave. She followed rather than led, was hunter instead of the hunted, and had finally found friends who cared for her wellbeing after being destined to spend her days alone.

Nothing about Thistle was right. The only question that remained was what was she going to do about it.


	2. Berserk

In his defense, Brent was getting better.

It wasn’t an excuse for the times he lost control or a comfort in the aftermath of his many mistakes, but Orrig was quick to point out that the lapses were coming farther apart, each shorter than the last.

There were some things that just got under his skin. Old wounds Brent couldn’t ignore and couldn’t let go. It felt like everyone around him liked to pick at them until they bled, tormenting him just to get a reaction. And Brent _did_ react.

But he was also learning, and that’s what truly mattered.


	3. Calvous

Orrig pretended he didn’t hear the whispers. The stereotype that orcs were stupid persisted, and he wasn’t above using that to his advantage. Let them say he was old and washed up. Let them say he ought to retire. Orrig knew his body well; he had a few seasons left in him yet.

It was harder to ignore creaking knees, stiff muscles, and—irritating enough—his balding crown. Last year he’d finally given in to reading glasses.

The satisfaction of a job well-done was worth it all. There was work to be done, and he would not leave it unfinished.


	4. Delectable

Thistle was convinced that cooking was magical.

It could be done alone or in a group. It was an art and a science, practiced by young children who knew nothing but to follow their mother’s directions and masters who spent a lifetime perfecting their craft. A meal could be as simple as throwing whatever one had into a pot or as difficult as a feast fit for a king. The fruit of the gardens Thistle loved was transformed into something enjoyed by all, uniting friends and family around a common table. If that wasn’t magic, Thistle didn’t know what was.


	5. Echolalia

It was the same thing over and over again. Sometimes Thistle got claustrophobic by all the voices in her head, pressing on all sides in a bombardment of negativity. On good days it wore her down until it was almost impossible to fight against, and on bad days…they were bad for a reason.

The voices of the past repeated until they became her own. Like water reshaped stone they changed her, wearing away and exposing every weakness. Worse yet, what the Echo said was _true_ , and Thistle would have to live with that for the rest of her life.


	6. Familial

It was a well-trained ear honed by years of experience that could discern the difference between harmless bickering and an argument, between simple moodiness and an issue that needed addressed, between the desire to be alone and self-imposed isolation.

It was empathy and parental instinct that allowed Orrig to take on rough, unpolished wrecks and train them into proper adventurers. Some days were more emotionally draining than others, sometimes when he wondered—even for the briefest of moments—if it was worth all the effort.

It was. It always was, and Orrig couldn’t help but smile at his kids’s progress.


	7. Gerent

There was a specific breed of person who believed the world would be saved through bureaucracy, and unfortunately they were the ones who made the rules. Every year it became harder for Orrig to manage his ragtag group of adventurers, if only because his focus was on paperwork and didn’t have time.

Gone were the days where a mercenary could accept a post, kill a monster, and get paid for an honest day’s work. Orrig would gladly fight drath without batting an eye, but working out the local tax code was a nightmare he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.


	8. Hamshackle

There wasn’t was a word to describe how frustrated Brent was with his own stupidity. It took three times as long to read even the simplest sentences, laboring word by word only to forget by the end what was said in the beginning. Orrig handled most paperwork, but Brent dreaded the few forms that came his way. Letters came out backward, his penmanship sucked, and ideas that seemed crystal clear in his head never made it to paper.

Seeing his signature next to the others made Brent cringe, but Thistle never made him feel dumb. For that he was grateful.


	9. Irascible

People said Lyra was irritable and moody. They claimed she drank too much, was unladylike in temperament, and a disgrace to her species.

People weren’t wrong, and she couldn’t care less.

Everyone had a breaking point, and Lyra had met hers a long time ago. She was going to live her life the way she wanted to, and she wasn’t going to take crap from anyone for doing it. If that meant cracking a few skulls here and there, so much the better. It was always fun to shut up hateful, ignorant jerks with a left hook to the jaw.


	10. Janiform

Sometimes Thistle felt like the secrets and shadows paramount to her continued survival were simply self-deception. She was two-faced, a fake and a fraud. This duality warred within her, threatening to tear her apart at the seams.

Thistle _tried_ to limit herself to lies by omission, but that didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t who Orrig, Brent, and Lyra thought she was. She wasn’t even sure she was who Master Wu thought she was. Someday her past would catch up with her, and Thistle simultaneously dreaded that eventuality and wished desperately that she could trust them with the truth.


	11. Kalon

The longer Brent knew Thistle, the more questions he had. Who was she? Where had she come from? What in the world was the One Who Is Three, and why was Thistle serving it?

Brent was a simple, up front kind of guy, and not having answers frustrated him. Simply asking was no good, and Brent was terrified of scaring her away for good.

So the mysteries remained. Brent contended himself with knowing she was the kindest, most gentle person he’d ever met, and hoped to one day to tell her as much while looking at her face to face.


	12. Literatim

_B_

The tip of the pencil snapped as he pressed too hard on the page. Growling with frustration, he took his penknife and brought it back to a fine point.

_R_

This time he tore the paper. Brent wadded up the ruined sheet and tried again.

e

It was legible. That was more than he could say about some of his previous attempts.

_И_

He didn’t realize until the end he’d gotten it backwards again.

_T_

The down stroke dipped too low. Biting his tongue in concentration, he made sure the last line went where it was supposed to.

_BReИT_


	13. Matrimony

Lyra didn’t know what to expect when she met Dotra. She sort of assumed based on the reverence with which Orrig spoke of her that she was the perfect paragon of womanly virtue: wife, mother, manager of the household—all the nonsense Lyra had been told to aspire to ever since she was a girl.

All these things were true, but Dotra was also an orc and that meant _strength._ Dotra didn’t take crap from anyone, her husband least of all. They didn’t compete, but complimented one another, and Lyra could only hope one day she would be so lucky.

 


	14. Nimrod

Brent learned best by doing. It took Thistle far too long to realize this simple fact, and when she did she felt like slamming her head against the nearest wall. There were many different types of intelligence, and just because he wasn’t a strong reader didn’t mean Brent was dumb.

She saw it best during his sparring sessions with Orrig and Lyra. Brent rarely made the same mistake twice and he never forgot. That was an art in and of itself, and maybe one day when Thistle was less terrified of accidentally saying the wrong thing she’d tell him so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Nimrod is actually a biblical name of a mighty hunter and only came to mean idiot thanks to the Bugs Bunny cartoons. Language is funny sometimes


	15. Obstreperous

There was something marvelous about the freedom to be _loud._ To be able to shout and swear to your heart’s desire without anyone to stop you. To be uncensored, uncouth, and brash just because you could.

Some people eased into such freedoms. Lyra jumped in headfirst and reveled in them. There were few things that delighted her more than to be able to say what she wanted whenever she wanted, regardless of consequences. And if her language was peppered with more four-letter words than most, so what? She was nothing if not honest, and wouldn’t have it any other way.


	16. Petrichor

Sometimes Thistle wondered if other cave elves knew what the air smelled like after a rain. Or if they would recognize the sensation of walking through grass barefoot. Or if they’d enjoy birdsong on a clear summer day.

Sometimes she wondered why she was chosen when there were so many others who would never feel the sun on their back. Sometimes she wondered if she weren’t better of left deep underground, alone.

Wondering only invited the slow, steady ache of a heart that would never heal, but sometimes…sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe someday things would change.


	17. Quiver

Finding this job had taken Lyra time, arduous effort, and quite a bit of luck. She respected Orrig, didn’t hate Brent, and was slowly coming around to the idea of having a mage on the team.

( _Sometimes Lyra wanted to grab Thistle by the shoulders give her a firm shake, but she was working on it.)_

But nothing about her job was better than the sensation right before a fight, the moment when Lyra shifted from trembling with excitement to deadly focus as she put her hard-earned skills to good work.

 Yes, it had taken awhile, but Lyra was home.


	18. Resplendent

After finally gathering the courage to ask Thistle about what he had seen, Brent dreamed about the One Who Is Three. The being made of fire and lightning had said not to be afraid—and he hadn’t been, not in the same way he had been of the Drath. Instead he was puzzled.

Opposite, but not equal. Fear that was not terror, but a primeval awe of seeing something so much greater than himself. It was amazement both beautiful and alien beyond understanding, yet somehow felt so very near.

It seemed unlikely, but Brent hoped he would see it again.


	19. Sesquipedalian

She noticed it first with Brent, how he would occasionally look at her like she’d grown a second head while she was trying to explain something. Less often Lyra would stop her in the middle of a rant to demand she slow down.

But it was only when she saw Orrig consult a pocket dictionary when he thought she couldn’t see that Thistle made a conceited effort to speak as simply as possible. After all, brevity was the soul of wit and wisdom alike, and there was no reason to use a long word when a diminutive one would do. 


	20. Tactile

Thistle was equal parts amazed and jealous at the ease which other people touched one another. Friendly pats on the back, innocuous brushes while passing in the street, the freedom to reach out and take someone by the hand…

Of course she couldn’t, though sometimes Thistle yearned to. No one in their right mind would want to touch her except to cause harm, and why shouldn’t they? She was a monster with hands that tapered into claws and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

Watching others have what she never could hurt, but at least it wouldn’t get her killed.


	21. Unflappable

There were some perks that came with getting older, and one of them was experience. There were few things in life that caught Orrig by surprise, if only because by this stage of life he had seen just about everything. His wealth of experience made it easy, if oftentimes exhausting, to deal with his job, family, and employees.

A second, lesser known effect was when something unusual _did_ happen—such as witnessing a Wizard-dragon fly into the mouth of a frog to rescue a possessed mage—years of ingrained habit ensured he was able to maintain a perfect poker face.


	22. Vivacious

There were few things more offensive to Lyra than someone who refused to live life to their fullest potential. No one, regardless of species, had enough time on this godsforsaken earth to waste any pussyfooting around. The world was too big a place to be shut up in a drawing room talking in endless circles without ever accomplishing anything.

If escaping that hell included dressing like a man, drinking like a fish, and cussing like a sailor, so much the better. Lyra knew her own mind, and she wasn’t going to let anyone make her shame her into changing it.


	23. Whiskey

Those who didn’t know her well were always surprised that Lyra preferred the sort of elaborate mixed drinks that came with little umbrellas to something that hit a little harder. They were the same people who were amazed she wore makeup and took time to make sure her hair looked nice every morning.

But there were exceptions to every rule, and not even Brent was thick enough to bother her on the days she sat at the end of the bar alone, wishing there was a drink strong enough to make her forget a past that was best left behind.


	24. Xesturgy

They were a work in progress: Brent’s loose grip on his volatile emotions, Lyra’s abrasive personality and cutting tongue, Thistle’s crippling insecurity. Left to their own devices they would cause no shortage of heartache for themselves and others, but with a little bit of guidance they could go far.

Sometimes all it took was someone to come alongside a lost soul and show them the path. It was unfair to expect perfection from someone who had never been taught, so Orrig poured himself into their lives, giving them a safe place to grow not just as mercenaries, but as people.


	25. Yesteryear

It wasn’t often Orrig found himself nostalgic. There was too much to take care of in the present to spend time looking back, and he was wise enough not to bask in the glory of the past.

Every once in a while, however, if one caught him in just the right mood at just the right time, it _was_ possible to wheedle a story or two from times gone by: how he met his wife, the misadventures of fatherhood, tales of past adventures—both good and bad.

Orrig didn’t indulge himself often, but when he did, people stopped to listen.


	26. Zealous

Having come to the point where she knew what she wanted, Lyra wasn’t about to let anyone stop her. She pursued martial arts with wholehearted abandon and landed herself a stable job that used her skillset to their fullest.

When she found someone she respected with fortitude that more than matched her own, she wasted no time angsting. If it didn’t work out it didn’t, but Lyra wasn’t going to sit back and not try.

Luckily for all parties involved, it _did_ , and for the first time in Lyra’s life she had a reason to get excited about her mail.


End file.
